


In the Afterglow

by Boton



Series: Life in Sussex [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Contemplation, F/M, Retirement!lock, Romance, Sussex Downs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boton/pseuds/Boton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock stretched his arms above his head, fingers just brushing the wrought iron headboard. He turned his head slightly and looked at Janine, her long dark hair, now flecked with silver to match his own, spilling over her bare shoulder as she sighed in sleep. Usually it was he who fell asleep first after they came together in the night, Janine invariably teasing him over breakfast the next day about the great Sherlock Holmes being a typical man in at least one way. </p><p>Sherlock had never been good at “afters.” </p><p>Part two of "Setting Sail."</p><p>Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and his universe are the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock is the creation of the BBC and its partners, and of co-creators Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. This work is for my pleasure and that of my readers; I am not profiting from the intellectual property of those creators listed above.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Afterglow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LizCarroll2612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizCarroll2612/gifts).



> As a result of an ongoing conversation with LizCarroll2612 about what might bring Sherlock and Janine (Victorian or modern) together at Sussex Downs in an unmarried but committed relationship, I offer this continuation of my story "Setting Sail." 
> 
> This takes place 10-12 years after the end of HLV, when Sherlock has retired or mostly retired to Sussex Downs. Reading "Setting Sail" will put it in context, but you don't have to read that story for this one to make sense.
> 
> Unashamedly Sherlock/Janine. But still, also something that I hope all of us have in our relationships.

Sherlock stretched his arms above his head, fingers just brushing the wrought iron headboard. He turned his head slightly and looked at Janine, her long dark hair, now flecked with silver to match his own, spilling over her bare shoulder as she sighed in sleep. Usually it was he who fell asleep first after they came together in the night, Janine invariably teasing him over breakfast the next day about the great Sherlock Holmes being a typical man in at least one way. Tonight, however, she had curled into the warmth of his side and fallen asleep before he could find comfort himself. He pulled the duvet up over her shoulder and slid carefully from the bed, grabbing his discarded pajama trousers and t-shirt and pulling them on as he made his way down the wooden stairs and out the back door of the cottage in Sussex Downs.

He sat down on the back steps, looking at the moon light the whitewashed sides of his beehives, and he pondered why it was that he couldn’t sleep. He thought that it had to do with “after,” which was something he never dealt well with. Tonight, the highs of lovemaking had ended in a bittersweet emotion he had little experience with, and it kept him up when, for once, he would prefer to drift off to sleep.  


Sherlock had never been good at “afters.” For year after year and case after case, he would run along on an adrenaline high that was better than the rush from any drug, solving whatever intricate puzzle had stumped Lestrade. Yet, when the case was over, he hated giving his statement and filling out forms and making sure everything was signed and official. John had teased him about hating to do paperwork, and Lestrade had rolled his eyes and told him he couldn’t have the next mystery until he had officially put the current one to bed, but Sherlock knew that he hated reliving the past, even a past so recent and triumphant. 

It was the same – worse, really – the night of John’s first wedding. Sherlock had thrown himself into helping John and Mary with a manic zeal, the pair laughing behind his back (and occasionally to his face) as he folded serviettes and weighed in on bridesmaid dresses and did background checks on the wedding party. But nothing could be allowed to mar the perfection of John’s day, not if Sherlock could stop it. It was only after, when the first dance had been finished and the bouquet tossed and Sherlock had made that wonderful, terrible deduction that Mary was pregnant that he knew it was all over. He could scarcely breathe for the knowledge that, in the space of five years, he had found his very first best friend and lost him in almost the same moment that he realized the depth of their friendship. He wanted to run from the terrible feeling of endings, the fear that Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft were right: it was the end of an era, and the new era wouldn’t include him. Only later did he find that this was not true; John needed both Sherlock and Mary in his life, and Sherlock found that he needed them right back.

He was musing – brooding, really – about this when he heard the screen door creak open and saw Janine pad outside on bare feet, taking a seat on his right and letting his dressing gown pool around her feet, the too-long sleeves turned up but still giving her plenty of room to burrow her hands inside for warmth. Automatically, he reached, dug for her hand, and picked it up in his own, rubbing his fingers over hers.

“What’s on your mind, Sherl? Not like you to get up and leave, after. More your style to drop into a coma,” she said with a smile.

“I don’t like ‘afters,’” he blurted, not even sure if that was what he really meant. 

“Ah, I see,” she said softly. And she did, he knew. That was the thing about Janine; people didn’t give her credit for her ability to see him as he really was. She had done so from the day of John’s wedding; had she not, she would never have drawn a second glance from him.

He rubbed the fingers of her left hand, picking them up and looking at them in the moonlight. “Are you sure you don’t think we should get married?” he asked without preamble.

“Do you?” she countered. “I don’t know that there’s anything that can happen at a registrar’s office that will change how we are with one another, and I don’t think any piece of paper would make either of us stay if we didn’t want to,” she said softly. “I kinda like the idea that we’re both here because we want to be here, not because someone told us we should be. Why, did you get a certain urge to live up to someone’s expectations?”

He laughed nearly silently. “I’ve spent nearly 50 years living counter to people’s expectations; I don’t know why I’d be different about this,” he said. Then he added, “if you’re sure.”

“I am,” she said, gazing out with him across the hives.

“But you’re wrong about something,” she added after a bit. “This isn’t an ‘after.’”

Sherlock looked at her and cocked his head, the light picking up the wings of silver at his temple and the lines at the corners of his eyes. “Oh?”

“No,” she said, “You’re confused. This is an afterglow, not an ‘after.’”

“The difference?” he asked.

“You’re afraid of ‘afters’ because they mean something good is over,” she said, linking her fingers through his. “But an afterglow means that something good has happened, and it will happen again. Just like a sunset has an afterglow, but there’s always a sunrise the next day.” 

Sherlock looked at her, then smiled a little more broadly, drawing them both up onto their feet and starting to nudge her into the house. Suddenly, he looked forward to tomorrow, knowing that they still had the night and the afterglow and each other.


End file.
